


Hungover

by continuity_of_ducks



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:40:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25949737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/continuity_of_ducks/pseuds/continuity_of_ducks
Summary: When Julian is tired of having a secret, he goes to talk to the person on Deep Space Nine who's best at keeping them.
Relationships: Julian Bashir & Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 3
Kudos: 66





	Hungover

Julian sat up in bed the next morning and wished he hadn’t. The last night had been—he closed his eyes in remembered shame—bad. He was hungover, partially, but on top of that, he had almost taken too big a risk at the bar last night. That was the problem with getting drunk. There was the lure of being blank, the blurring of the world between facts and emotions, of temporarily turning down his intellect enough to have a normal conversation. And yet—with that, he also began to lose his inhibitions. 

He was sure he’d said something awkward the night before, when asked Quark too loudly for a drink, or insisted to his friends that they join him for a late-night holodeck adventure, calling Miles’ room to insist he come, forgetting that it could wake up his children. But at the same time—and Julian did then sink back into bed, appalled—it probably saved him from the other plans he’d begun to make at the bar, the idea that had occurred to him after the first drink, and which had precipitated the next few.

No one was waiting for him at the sick bay that morning, so after he’d attempted a hangover cure that worked, but only on the headache, he stood too long in the shower. It didn’t help, and instead he only felt guilty about wasting water. 

He was sure he hadn’t called Garak the night before, so that seemed like a safe first port of call. No one else was in the shop, but he spotted a dim light on in the back office. He sagged onto a customer chair to wait, making enough noise that he could be sure that Garak heard him. 

He wasn’t sure what he wanted, except not to be alone—he never wanted to be alone, in general, but especially not when he was this hungover—but perhaps it was that he couldn’t bear someone being nice when he’d feel better being made fun of. Even when everyone else had found out he was an augment, they had barely let the shock show on their faces, and it scared him not to be able to read their real reactions more clearly. Not that Garak would tell Julian what he thought, not that Garak would tell him anything, but at least his reaction wouldn’t be so nice.

“Has someone already given you a hangover remedy, Doctor, or should I direct you to the replicator?,” Garak asked, and Julian jumped. 

“I didn’t see you there,” said Julian, and stood up. Mistake. The room spun again and he said down. “I’ve already had one, but it only works so well.”

“And did you enjoy getting drunk alone last night?,” Garak asked, like they were already in the middle of a conversation.

“I wasn’t alone. The middle of a bar isn’t alone. I was talking to Quark.” 

“Come now, Doctor, talking to the bartender for company is drinking alone.”

“Miles was supposed to join me.”  
“A perfectly reasonable explanation for one drink at the bar, I agree,” said Garak. Julian didn’t respond, but looked down at his hands. Garak tried another tact. “Couldn’t find someone to match your intellect? I know none of us are able to compete with your special talents.”

Again, Julian couldn’t be bated. Garak continued, trying to determine what the conversation was that he was supposed to be having. “Shame no one could make you immune from hangovers, when they managed to fix everything else.”

“Not everything,” said Julian, and he looked up, but not at Garak, staring into the rows of finished garments. “Some fixes I could have really used that they didn’t think to make.” He hadn’t even meant to say it, but the shame from last night felt too strong.

Garak had a guess, but there was no way to help Julian get there without scaring him off the topic entirely. If there’s one thing that Garak was good at, besides a well-made shirt, it was the ability to get information out of someone. He waited. Julian did nothing, lost in his own thoughts. 

“I’m sure they would have if it mattered,” Garak said, and before Julian can react, he handed him a still-unattached sleeve and a seam ripper. “If it doesn’t make you too dizzy, I’m putting you to work. Take out these stitches, please.”

Julian began to unpick the edges of the thread. “They improved my coordination,” he said, “But they couldn’t have—” His body was so tense that his fingers slipped on the seam ripper, and it cut a line down his hand.

“Damn,” he said. 

Garak took out a portable dermal regenerator before Julian could get up. When Garak held Julian’s arm in place to use it, he felt the momentary hesitation at his touch. The guess was correct, then. “And yet, it is still possible to make mistakes,” he said. 

“I just always think that alcohol will make me more interested in, well, women. I can’t imagine that would have been too difficult for someone to ensure,” said Julian. He waited. It wasn’t quite what he’d wanted to say, but surely Garak would get to it in time. Or, he supposed, retreat politely from the conversation. 

“You’ve always seemed interested in women,” said Garak. 

“That’s a relief. Although, of course, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Ah,” said Garak, and widened his eyes slightly.

“It’s not a lack of interest I’m concerned about, it’s what else I also may—” Julian paused here. If this was too taboo on Cardassia, this was the time for Garak to make that clear.

“Doctor, you are allowed to talk to handsome men in the bar. There’s certainly no rule against it in the Federation, or Starfleet. Or Bajor, for that matter.”

Garak hadn’t realized that Julian could blush that much, could be so tense. 

“I didn’t realize anyone had noticed,” he finally said. 

“I doubt anyone else did. Most of the other shopkeepers aren’t working late.”

“I meant in general.”

“I’m only a tailor, of course, but my job is to know things. Sometimes it’s good to… notice.”

“I thought I was being so careful.”

Garak put a hand on Julian’s shoulder, which somehow managed to tense even more. Another moment like this and Garak worried he’d break like glass. But then he relaxed, slightly, slightly, and Garak took his hand away. 

“There’s no rule against it, no. But have you ever met anyone in Starfleet who— not only officers, anyone at all.” 

“I can’t say that I have, although of course my encounters have only been here, as a tailor, so I’m drawing from a limited pool. And surely Lieutenant Dax, in meeting her symbiont’s previous—”

“And yet, you’ll notice, that didn’t work. And I’m sure Dax would understand—that’s part of the reason I, well—” Julian paused. It was not necessary to tell Garak that the appeal of Dax had been that she was a woman, and he was attracted to her enough, but that she also knew what it was like to be a man; was still, in some ways, all the people, men and women, that she had been previously. “It’s not Dax I’m worried about, it’s that Starfleet, and the Federation—even though I’ve heard a lot of reassurances that it’s completely fine.”

Julian lapsed into silence, so Garak, now taking his own turn to look away from his companion, said, “Cardassia feels the same way. And yet, somehow, one seems to get the sense that still there is something slightly,” he paused, and straightened the hem of the sleeve he was working on, “distasteful about it. Not that anyone would say that, of course, as long as everything’s going well.” 

“Are we still talking about Cardassia?,” Julian asked, dryly.

“I wouldn't presume to explain the Federation to you. I’m sure their views are less dependent on success.”

“I’m sure they’d like to think so. And yet I’ve never come across anyone who says it openly. What is tolerance, if there’s no one there to tolerate? And here I am, already—I know I can come on too strong, I try so hard, even before people knew about the augment. It’s not a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“And so why tell me this?,” Garak asked.

Julian stood up and paced around the shop. “I had to tell someone. I hate keeping secrets. And I thought, you keep secrets better than anyone else on the station. I’m sure you use them for blackmail, of course, but at this point I’m sure it would be low on your list.”

“I see.”

Julian paused. “I should probably get back to—whatever I was doing. Don’t want to let this distract from Starfleet work. Thank you. Are we still—are we still having lunch this week? You don’t want to cancel?”

“And miss one of the only redeeming features of this station? Of course not,” said Garak.

“Good! Well then.” Julian attempted to smile, but he only managed to look relieved. He walk to the shop’s exit.

“And doctor?”

“Yes?” When Julian turned around, he had already switched back into the competent, removed doctor that Garak was used to. The intimacy of the moment was gone.

“If you’re worried about the bar being too indiscreet, I’m often here long into the evening.”

Julian hadn’t been expecting that, and Garak watched him quickly recalibrate. He nodded, and said, slowly, “I’ll keep that in mind.”


End file.
